


I Think I've Got A Feeling I've Lost Inside

by flamingosarepink



Category: Football RPF
Genre: And then more angst, Angst and Feels, Arsenal FC, M/M, getting together with angst, past pierreus, rarepair ahoy!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-03 20:01:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14003619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamingosarepink/pseuds/flamingosarepink
Summary: “Well,” He begins, with a bit of hope in his voice as he sits up a little straighter against the couch arm. “You could always come to London, to Arsenal.. If you wanted.”





	I Think I've Got A Feeling I've Lost Inside

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mm_nani](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mm_nani/gifts).



> I would like to start out by thanking Alex, for talking me through the ending parts of this fic when I was stuck with it. As well, this fic is for Nani for persuading me to write this fic in the first place.

The transfer season always brings an air of uncertainty, and despite the circumstances of his transfer Henrikh hates the way that it makes him feel. 

His time in Manchester hadn’t been completely bad, but it hadn’t been great either in any sense. He’d had success here and there at certain moments, but in the end the fruits of his labor had only rotted into nothing. At least he had not ended things on bad terms with the club when he’d decided that perhaps London would be a better fit. However, there’s a slight feeling of dread at moving to a city you don’t know to a club with a whole new group of teammates to figure out in the manner one does a puzzle. 

A whole new group of people to figure out who you could be friends with, and figuring out who you don’t get along with. 

But its a part of the game that Henrikh is used to, and another part of the game he’s become accustomed to is the rumors that circulate this time of year. Who’s coming, who’s not. Who’s the one who got away. None of it is anything that he really entertains the idea of, at least, not until a familiar name pops up. It’s a name that he expects to hear the absolute least when it comes to transfer rumors, or perhaps the most depending on who you ask. It’s a rumor nonetheless, because to his knowledge, this person is happy tucked away in Dortmund. 

This person has never shown the desire to leave, at least not in a way that ever amounted to anything. In the end, it was always Dortmund always reeling them back in the manner a siren lures a sailor off his ship with a simple song. Maybe it isn’t even that, but Henrikh knows you can’t leave a place when your heart is kept there; perhaps not by football but by a person. The whispers of this seemingly fade ever so slightly over the course of a few days, while Henrikh throws himself wholly and completely into his new team that he is slowly learning to love.

Given how Manchester worked out, he doesn’t have the time to entertain ideas that are nothing more than silly. 

He trains until his muscles ache, never satisfied with anything no matter how much his new teammates clap him on the back when he does something impressive. People, namely managers, will forget that all in an instant if you give them reason to. Henrikh has always been driven by the satisfaction that only comes along with being pleased with your own work and how you complete it. For this reason, people find it funny that he’s never seen a video of himself playing. The surprise is magnified when he tells them that he only sees the things he does wrong when he does.

Pictures appear on the internet of seemingly a seemingly happy group of teammates, ruffling of hair and carefully held smiles with eyes that betray that look. _Just what I thought,_ Henrikh thinks. 

Henrikh loses count of the days that pass, so that’s probably why it’s a surprise in every sense of the word when he gets called into the manager’s office after a morning session. There’s a tight, constricting feeling in his chest that appears almost out of nowhere- just how it did when this similar scenario happened in Manchester so he holds his breath slightly and close.

The manager’s voice is solid and unwavering, yet almost in a comforting way that lets Henrikh know that he somehow managed to not get in trouble the short time he’s been at Arsenal. 

“The club needs a favor from you.” Arsene begins from behind his desk, arms folded across the top. “There’s a player we’re pursuing, that you were friends with in the past. His personal situation has deteriorated with his current club and we think that you could help with moving negotiations.” 

Henrikh swallows thickly. What do they expect him to say? He’s been in this game long enough to know the ways in which football clubs work and operate when attracting players, and the last thing he wants to be complicit in that. But there is only one answer he can really give at the risk of upsetting anyone. “Okay.” is what he simply says, and Arsene smiles. 

“The player is Aubameyang.”

Nothing more is said, and Henrikh leaves the office wishing he’d never came in the first place while letting out one singular breath. Days pass, and Henrikh loses count even if it hasn’t been that long. Thankfully, he’s not called into the office again although he definitely worries to some degree about it when he arrives for training. The window ends soon, and the deal is probably expected to be done before the final day. He wishes that he had more time to think this over, to think about how to go about this properly without hurting anyone and yet. Yet, the voice in the back of his head tells him _there’s no right or wrong way to go about this. People leave, people get hurt._ As much as he doesn’t want to do this and would rather he could do this respectably in person, something has to happen given that he doesn’t have that luxury. Henrikh goes home with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, which stays there as one might expect. 

He pulls into the driveway of his new home and into the garage where some of the boxes from his move still sit unpacked, making a mental note to make the call before the day is over and done, although that certainly does not happen until a day or two later. 

\- - - - - - - - - 

The day Henrikh calls and Auba’s phone rings in far away Dortmund is cloudy, and overcast. Far from an ugly day but not a pretty one and somewhat foreboding what with the way in which the sky is mixed with grey clouds ranging in shades from light to some what dark, threatening to spill rain. Somehow, things fit the mood. 

At first Auba thinks that the caller might be Marco, but that would be wishful thinking. He’s been through this one too many times, hearing rumors only for the people that he’s close with to leave in the end and if Auba is honest, Marco has only ever been smart enough to know when to sever things even if it hurts the most. But he’s also not selfish enough to force Auba to stay in a place that no longer feels the same as it did before for him. Things had been promised, things had been planned out, but if the two of them know anything it is that nothing ever goes the way you plan them. Marco will be okay eventually, but for god knows how long things will feel raw and ugly. Between them, it may never be the same again.

_“Are the rumors true?” Marco says once everyone leaves the locker room after training that morning, gathering his things up as if they took on extra weight from his locker into his bag as they prepare to leave for the day with eyes cast down. He tries to speak normally, although Auba knows him well enough to read between the lines and the flat tone to know how the other man is really feeling. The question is plain and simple, not meant to have a long drawn out answer. A clean break._

_“Yes, but…” Auba pauses before continuing. “I don’t know where I plan to go.” The answer given in response seems awkward, but it’s an honest answer. Auba looks over next to him very briefly, but Marco’s eyes don’t look back at him. He looks away and back to the last of his own things. There’s no answer and for a moment Auba lets the silence stand between the two of them and mull things over. “I know I made a promise to you, but I can’t change any of this. I wish I could, you know that.” Auba hears Marco let out a breath that he knows has been held in, which in turn makes him purse his lips ever so slightly. If there was any way to make this any less worse, he’d do it in a heartbeat. Marco isn’t just anyone, but he knows that Marco has his reasons for saying as little as possible. The two of them have never been anything but honest with each other, no matter what._

_“You know I support you. It’s not about that, I just…” Marco runs his hand through his hair, which has grown long enough to warrant another haircut soon. This time, he does look at Auba, who offers a closely guarded smile and receives a similar smile in return although there’s a hint of dejection to it at the fact that this is happening yet again._

_“Things should be different, you know? Not like this.” Auba completes his sentence for him, as Marco manages to walk up to him before they embrace. He buries his face in Auba’s neck as they hug, he heaves out a sigh. There’s no way to make any of this better, and he can tell that Marco doesn’t necessarily want to move away but there’s some other force at place that eventually in the end makes him after a solid minute leaving Auba by himself once Marco leaves._

Auba picks up the phone on the second ring.

“Hello?”

It isn’t like they haven’t kept in contact with each other here and there, but nothing like how they used to back when they were teammates and seemingly closer friends than they are now. Henrikh smiles at the sound of Auba’s voice, even though the sheer emotional exhaustion and low tone cloud its usual happy and easy-going tone that he remembers from their Dortmund days. The two of them talk catch up, and Auba is interested in hearing about Henrikh’s time in Manchester and now London, for the minute he’s been there. Hearing the other man’s voice is if anything, a comforting sound.

At some point though, he lets out a small breath and cuts to the chase. If he doesn’t do this now, he won’t and this will all be for nothing. Henrikh has always been a bad liar, and there’s no way he would be able to tell Arsene that Aubameyang didn’t say yes or at least entertain the idea of coming given the history and idols that have played for the club. 

“Enough about me, what about you?” He says simply. It’s an ordinary enough question and he hopes his nerves don’t let on that all is not that it seems in their conversation, that he’s hiding something or that there’s another reason that he’s called other than to just catch up with a friend. There might have been motive in mind as to the reason of his call originally, but there’s an easy quality to how they fall into simple conversation. Henrikh wants to hear what Auba has to say, right from the source. Maybe all of this is still nothing but a farce. 

“I have to leave.” Plain, simple and to the point. Henrikh almost doesn’t believe the words being said. 

“Dortmund is… not good anymore. But I don’t know where i’m going. There’s clubs interested, but I just don’t know.” Auba sounds tired beyond comprehension, and by this point Henrikh has drawn his bottom lip between his teeth as he looks up absentmindedly at the ceiling of his living room from his place on the couch. Things are almost panning out to be falling into place way too easily, but the moment is there to be seized. Henrikh goes for it.

“Well,” He begins, with a bit of hope in his voice as he sits up a little straighter against the couch arm. “You could always come to London, to Arsenal.. If you wanted.” 

Things go almost as well as anyone could hope that they would. 

There’s a cheesy sort of video that gets filmed announcing Auba’s transfer. Henrikh watches it from the comfort of the backseat of the car taking him to dinner that night and he can’t help but laugh at the line _Yo Pierre! You want to come out here?_ which he watches come out from his own lips. The worst of this seems to be all but over, although there’s plenty of unpleasantries being tossed back and forth in the press as always. It’s a fairly complicated situation, but overall the transfer to Arsenal seems to be a surprise to some. Others say that Auba will be nothing but a good fit for the club, which Henrikh believes to be true. Auba is nothing but talented, and he deserves this fresh start in an previously uncharted territory. The Premier League is a challenge to anyone that hasn’t been in it before let alone to the ones that are and that alone is what it makes this all the more exciting. 

Over the course of the days after, goodbyes from his Dortmund teammates trickle in on Instagram for Auba, although none of them are the one that Henrikh is looking for and for some reason it stings in a way he can’t describe.

Aside from the promotional pictures taken for the club’s various social media accounts, they don’t talk- not really anyway. Auba is busy taking things in while the other is busy with still finding his footing in this still somewhat unfamiliar place. He doesn’t expect Henrikh to drop everything at the moment, but there’s something about the passionate yet intense way the other man trains which Auba observes on his first training session. Nothing serves as a distraction to Henrikh, and it sets the tone for the day. 

“It’s nice to see you again,” He says after the session is over and once the team is back in the locker room, passing Auba on his way to the shower. 

The next session goes much the same. 

When it all changes is the first match they play together, against Everton. Auba scores off a pass from Henrikh before the half. The team is leading at the half, and everything almost feels _too perfect_. In the huddle of their celebrating teammates, euphoria is high. They’re winning the game in an emphatic way, asserting what the team is and can be. Their foreheads touch, arms are around necks, heads duck while hiding bright smiles from the view of anyone watching. It’s nothing short of a dream debut, and there’s something about the look that Auba gives that Henrikh gives back which in turn makes him feel his stomach twist in the best way possible. It’s a new feeling that he isn’t accustomed to, and in some ways its a little scary. 

\- - - - - - - - 

Finally, they find the time in everything to head out to dinner one night on a day off. The day was uneventful enough, spent resting given the way they’ve been hard at work in a short amount of time. 

Henrikh looks at Auba over the top of his drink before speaking. There’s a thought nagging at him, that he can’t help but wondering about. 

“Is he mad at you or something?” 

Auba glances up from the menu he was glancing through and their eyes catch. Henrikh doesn’t even have to name who he’s talking about for Auba to know what he means, and he heaves out a heavy sigh as Auba looks away back to the menu before speaking again. “I don’t know, but he’s hurt.”

 

As with everything, there are the highest of highs and the lowest of lows, which comes after Auba’s debut. 

Tottenham in the league, and then a brief glimmer against Östersund, but then they lose on the return leg but at least they lead on aggregate. Auba can’t play in those games because of damn metaphorical red tape. But then they lose the League Cup final to City and then again in the league. Then Brighton happens. 

There are pros and cons to getting involved physically and emotionally with a teammate. Given his past, it’s a ridiculous way in which to build a sense of security, but it happens and Auba can’t do anything to stop it from happening. But they don’t talk about it, instead preferring to let things happen as they choose to. Although, in learning from their experiences of the past, the two of them barely cast a glance at each other in training.

The first time it happens is somewhere between the League Cup final and the next match after against City. Auba and Henrikh are sitting on the couch at the latter’s home after dinner and a drink or two, finally all moved into. Conversations have faded into nothing until knees touch on accident, and eyes meet. It seems like a cliche right out of some cheesy movie and it almost makes Auba sick. Maybe it’s the fact that he feels lonely in the first place since leaving Dortmund that makes it feel like he’s almost using Henrikh. 

Henrikh on the other hand, just gets it. He well and truly does. After being around the two of them for a long time, it’s hard not to get it for every time that Henrikh walked in on them in the locker room after training or observed that at a team video game night stealing glances with thighs brushing together and smiles from his place at the other end of the couch. Maybe this is happening all too conveniently, given they both feel alone for various reasons. He can’t be Marco, he can’t be some replacement or some stand in. But he gets the feeling that isn’t what this is. Auba is going to miss Marco, and somewhere along the way this is going to hurt more than he thinks it will. However, this is about new starts and even if it doesn’t last there’s something about it that makes him want to find out if it will. 

The way it happens is nothing special, typical wandering hands and all complete with seeing how far the other will go. Eyes meet again, lips meet. Things go on farther until Auba wakes up in a bed that isn’t his own the next morning. What he feels oddly enough isn’t guilt or disgust at himself for letting this happen again, instead it has been replaced with a feeling of being at ease with things. People change, feelings change. Homes change. Sometimes things end up this way when you move practically worlds away from the person that you love.

It’s an unspoken thing that no one has to know about this, and it’s the first thing that pops into Henrikh’s mind once the two of them have woken up properly, having found their way back to bed after the two of them showered, meeting again in between lazy kisses. They have the day off, and they’re both in the mood to be indulgent. More wandering hands, more kisses and discovering each other. Figuring each other out, letting things happen as they just happen. Everything feels so carefree, and its safe to say that it hasn’t been like that for either of them in a while. 

But in the comfort, secluded and quiet atmosphere of the house, the two of them don’t care about the goings on of the outside world until Auba has to walk out the door back to his own life; seemingly separate yet so intertwined with that of his friend’s. 

In some ways, home is not a building, but a person. 

The two of them relish in days spent together whether it is in the comfort of either of their homes or a stolen moment in the locker room. On the good days, they seemingly just fall into each other like it was just meant to happen. Auba, riding the coattails of feeling happy and throwing himself wholeheartedly into this new club is the one who lets Henrikh fall into him when the other man is dissatisfied. Henrikh takes losses harder than anyone, and back in their Dortmund days it wasn’t uncommon for him to say that Henrikh was his own worst critic. 

Sometime down the road, there is another Europa League game that Auba can’t play in. _“That’s life. I have to deal with it,”_ He says in an interview, lamenting the never-ending red tape preventing him from helping his team and the fact that in Dortmund, he didn’t have long stretches of time between games. So even if he doesn’t like it, he has to settle for watching the match from his couch instead of being in the thick of things on the pitch with his new teammates in their home stadium- The Emirates- with its large and imposing atmosphere that seems even larger with the fans singing your name. He sees the chances, the missed chances, and the way that Henrikh picks himself back up frustratedly after having missed a chance of his own. This only furthers his frustrations at not being able to help the team, even though by the end they’ve won three against Milan’s one and increased their aggregate score to 5, sealing their place in the next round. The team is through, and despite not being able to experience the moment with the team, Auba is happy. Although he would greatly prefer to hear what the stadium sounds when the team from across the sea comes on a European night. 

When the doorbell rings, it’s not late but it isn’t early either. The sun has started to go down as Auba walks to the door. Henrikh smiles at the sight of Auba on the other side, not brightly, but enough that one can see his lips quirk ever so slightly. He’s tired, more on the side of exhausted and Auba stands aside to let him into the house but not before Henrikh leans in for a hug- an arm loosely wrapped around his neck and his face almost buried in the other man’s neck. 

Tired himself from a long day, Auba smiles into Henrikh’s temple. Content, feeling warm inside and a little less alone.

**Author's Note:**

> For some sort of inspiration, I wrote the first and second halves of this fic while listening to Oasis's album _(What's the Story) Morning Glory?_ and _Standing On The Shoulder Of Giants_. I also listened to some classical pieces as well, namely Sibelius's _Violin Concerto in D minor 47_ and Fanny Mendelssohn's Nottorno In G minor.


End file.
